Page 95 of Dissection of Immortal Hearts

The Queen extended her hand, opening it to reveal the Smoky Quartz resting like a false promise of freedom. It was a dark, glassy gem veined with shadows. It pulsed faintly, similar to a heart too long restrained, its polished surface shimmering with deceptive allure and masking the power coiled within.

Kathrine had glimpsed the stone before but never expected its latent energy to awaken so vividly in the necromancer’s presence.

How many souls were contained in that shard of quartz?

“When you reach Hell, you’ll seek the altar,” the Queen said with the confidence of someone who had already struck a deal. “Every demon knows of it. There, you’ll find Belphegor.”

Constantine held back a frown. Belphegor, the Craftsman, that’s who the Queen sought? He was the demon responsible for assigning tasks to fill the time between physical punishments, mental torments, and degrading assemblies. Constantine wasn’t aware of all the roles in Hell, but they were their own kind of torment for the sinners.

The Queen continued, “The gloves are on his hands, and he would never remove them willingly.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Your Majesty,” Constantine interrupted.

“Belphegor has a weakness. No one knows what it is. Despite his pretence, he’s just a demon of Hell. They may be monsters, but their minds are far weaker than those of Earth’s immortals. You need to stare into his eyes and implant the thought. Compel him to give you the gloves and guide you out of Hell.”

The necromancer’s lips curled. “Right. Seems easy enough. But that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t heardmyterms.”

The Queen crossed her arms, the glowing stone vanishing into her bodice as she circled him. “No need,” she said to his back.

With an inscrutable expression, she signalled to the guard in the corner. He wasn’t part of her elite, but he was well-trained in combat and torture – evidenced by the whip in his hand.

The Queen took the leather strap from him. “Hold him tight,” she instructed the guards.

Constantine didn’t resist when they seized his arms and turned him to face her.

“Do not let him go. Under any circumstances,” the Queen commanded.

Constantine pressed his lips into a line. “Are you trying to turn me on? Perhaps you’ve heard I’m not just hypersexual, but a masochist, too.”

The Queen smirked. The whip lashed through the air, striking with the speed of lightning.

A scream of pain tore through the throne room.Diana’sbody jerked, convulsing from the blow that landed on her back. She quickly regained control, the scream fading into laboured breathing.

The necromancer’s face remained stony. But Kathrine noticed the faint bob of his Adam’s apple – and so did the Queen, judging by her next action.

She struck again. The vampire’s body flinched, though she took the hit with stoic silence. A third strike followed. The crack of the whip, a soft groan.

Then, a pause. The whip rested on the floor, lifeless, yet ready to spring back to life in an instant. The vampire’s body, despite being still upright, trembled; a single tear slid down hercheek.

Kathrine found the necromancer more intriguing. Would he break? Would he stand by, detached, with Sevar’s apathy? Because proving a point mattered more than proving his love?

He was as impenetrable as stone, and might have appeared equally unfeeling… if not for his eyes. They blazed with a fire that threatened to consume them all.

“Do you think she’s had enough, or does she deserve more?” the Queen appraised the vampire.

“Stop,” the necromancer growled.

“So, he does have a heart…”

The whip lashed out once more. This time, the vampire collapsed onto her side.

The necromancer fought against the men holding him back. “I saidstop!” he roared as the whip cracked again.

The vampire whimpered now, unable to endure the blows in silence. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, seeping through her black leather clothing.

The necromancer thrashed and shouted like a caged animal. If he weren’t restrained, Kathrine had no doubt he would have torn the Queen apart with his bare hands.

“Agree to retrieve the gloves, and I’ll stop!” the Queen hissed.